


My Heart Was Never Pure

by agentx13 (rebelle_elle)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Natasha Romanoff, F/F/M, Multi, Polyamory, bisexual sharon carter, sharon carter appreciation month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6193748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelle_elle/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first time Natasha Romanoff saw Sharon Carter, the blonde was a gangly fifteen-year-old, already tall and thin as a willow reed. To Natasha, freshly defected, the girl stood out as the first young woman she’d seen since her training, only Sharon was a stark contrast to the killers she’d been raised with.</i>
</p><p>Or, how Natasha came to believe she might be worth being loved after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Natasha Romanoff saw Sharon Carter, the blonde was a gangly fifteen-year-old, already tall and thin as a willow reed. To Natasha, freshly defected, the girl stood out as the first young woman she’d seen since her training, only Sharon was a stark contrast to the killers she’d been raised with. She was completely different from anyone at the Virginian estate, the only young, brightly-clothed person in a sea of adult agents clad in charcoal grays and navy blues and onyx blacks.

They had arrived moments after Sharon, in time for Fury to tease the girl about how much luggage she had and for Sharon to retort that it was all books, and if Fury wanted to make himself truly useful, he’d do something about the American education system. Fury laughed and said it was above his pay grade, and Sharon had scowled at him but admitted that he really didn’t get paid much.

Natasha had never heard a child speak to an adult in such a way. It was clear that Sharon and Fury liked each other, and Sharon seemed to respect Fury, but Sharon felt comfortable joking around with Fury, even taunting him. It was evident from their arguments that Sharon was clever, matching Fury as their arguments got more pointed. Her lack of fear of her superiors was astounding. Sharon wasn’t as graceful as the Disney princesses they watched on TV, wasn’t as chipper as Patsy Walker from the Patsy Walker show, but there was something wholesome about her, something pure and innocent but not naive.

Natasha didn’t like her.

She tried to avoid Sharon, but it was easier thought than done. Sharon was at every meal, in the library with them each night, and Natasha even glimpsed her taking a morning jog when she herself jogged with Fury. Sharon was at the house for the entirety of her summer vacation, and it irritated Natasha that American children got months away from teachers and instructors each year. It irritated her even more that she was jealous.

She kept close to her new boss. She understood that she was on a tight leash. She might never understand why Barton made the call he did, but she knew that this was her last chance.

Director Carter - _Former_ Director Carter - was with them almost as often, but the woman already had age spots, and she groaned sometimes when she stood up. During their evenings in the library, the woman fell asleep more often than not, and Sharon would cover her with a blanket and go back to her homework. 

The woman hardly said a word to Natasha, though Natasha felt the woman’s eyes on her often. Each time, Natasha pretended to ignore it.

One day, while Sharon cleared the dishes, Director Carter said to Natasha, “You haven’t tried to kill any of us yet. I’m almost disappointed.”

Natasha disguised her surprise as she looked at the woman. “I don’t want to go back to the Red Room. If I kill you, I don’t have anywhere else to go but back.”

“You could make a new life for yourself,” she suggested. She must have seen the doubt on Natasha’s face, because she continued. “No, you know that wouldn’t work. I’ve seen some of the old training facilities. They teach you how to pass through without being noticed, but not how to live.”

Natasha wasn’t sure what the difference was, but she wasn’t going to ask.

Silence fell. Natasha could hear dishes clinking in the sink, and Sharon joking with some of the agents before telling off another for putting a wet cup in the cabinet.

The woman continued to watch her, but did not speak to her for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Sharon wanted to be a SHIELD agent. It perplexed Natasha, how someone would want the sort of life that the Red Room forced women into, and she listened in disgust and confusion - and a little fear, though she wasn’t sure why - as Sharon talked with Fury about how SHIELD had changed since her aunt’s time, what new jobs were available, what sort of people were sent on missions these days. She was obviously fishing for information without wanting it to be obvious.

“Subtlety,” Natasha muttered.

All activity in the library ceased, and Natasha realized they were all staring at her. She mentally kicked herself. She tried to avoid speaking here, feeling out of place in the family atmosphere.

“What was that?” Director Carter asked.

Natasha suppressed her glare and kicked herself again. Such a stupid mistake. “You’re not subtle. At all. If you want to be a spy, you need to learn.”

Sharon drew herself up to her full height, and her chin jutted out stubbornly. She looked somewhat like a featherless rooster about to crow.

Fury barked out a laugh, evidently thinking something similar. Even the old woman joined in, and Sharon fell back into her chair, looking faintly abashed.

“I hate you all,” she told them cheerfully. It made the two adults laugh even harder, and Natasha realized that this was a private joke they had. She didn’t know if she felt alienated that she didn’t know it, or weird that they were including her in it in some way.

* * *

Sharon loved the house in Virginia. Aunt Peggy jokingly referred to it as “the family estate” because so many relatives had ended up staying there. She had heard a story that Howard Stark had owned the place, but after Peggy had gotten hurt on a mission, he had made her stay there and then ended up giving it to her to keep. One of Aunt Peggy’s friends, a man with an English accent who had visited Peggy when Sharon was especially young, had said that Stark owned so many houses that he never noticed the loss of a single one.

In her youth, Sharon had thought it was neat and had toyed with the idea of whom she would give houses to when _she_ grew up and had so many houses she could give one away. As she all-too-slowly reached the ripe old age of fifteen, she grew more appreciative of the gift and what it meant. How Stark, too, must have deeply esteemed Aunt Peggy.

And the training facilities certainly didn’t hurt, either. Sharon had gone from a four-year-old who insisted that the agents at the estate help her ride the ponies - and no matter what he said, Sharon remembered how well Nick could braid a pony’s mane - to a young woman who took advantage of the gym and ranges whenever she came. She was going to be a SHIELD agent, and she wasn’t going to make Peggy have to write recommendations for her. She wasn’t going to make Peggy do anything but sit back and watch Sharon climb the ranks.

She was doing laps in the pool when Peggy stepped up to the pool’s edge, and Sharon braced herself at the edge and looked up at her. Something was weighing on Peggy’s mind; otherwise, Peggy would have waited to talk until breakfast in half an hour. 

“What do you think of Natalia?” Peggy asked.

Sharon felt warmth blossom in her chest. Peggy had asked her questions before, but they’d always been about past events. What did she think of the Commandos’ entry through this door as opposed to that one? Would she consider the Skull a megalomaniac? What was the better car to steal in Nazi Germany? But never about current events. She felt as if she had graduated some sort of test.

But that was no reason to be cocky. She didn’t want to get a big head and make some stupid mistake.

Sharon furrowed her brow. Remembering the dig Natasha had made at her in the library, she nodded. “She’s too talkative,” she said decidedly.

Peggy chuckled softly, and Sharon gently touched her forehead to the concrete rim of the pool. Natasha hardly ever spoke. Now Peggy knew she was still miffed about the dig.

“She’s smart,” Sharon admitted grudgingly. “She knows spywork way better than I do, maybe better than I ever will. She’s careful.”

“Do you trust her?”

Trust? Sharon looked up at Peggy. Why wouldn’t Sharon trust Natasha? What had Natasha done? “Would she have told me how to improve if I couldn’t?” she countered.

Peggy lifted her head, a breeze tugging at her graying curls. “She defected from Russia. Barton was supposed to kill her but instead brought her in.”

Sharon snorted. She’d heard Barton’s name before - Nick and someone named Coulson had been arguing about him over the phone. The word “carny” had come up several times. “Of course he did.”

Peggy looked at her again.

Sharon shrugged. “All the fights Nick gets into about him are about Barton disobeying orders, but Barton only disobeys the ones he thinks are wrong. They keep sending him to kill people, and he doesn’t always do it. And of course he didn’t kill Natasha. She’s, like, my age. SHIELD isn’t supposed to kill kids.”

Peggy grinned wryly. “She’s a little older than that.”

“Not that much.” Sharon shrugged and pushed away from the wall and tread water. “If Nick really wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have sent Barton, right?” She realized she had asked rather than stated and quickly said, “I mean, if Nick really wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have sent Barton.”

Peggy’s gaze was sharp, and Sharon wondered if she’d said something wrong. After several seconds, right as Peggy seemed about to leave, she paused. “Why do you call her Natasha instead of Natalia?”

The crease between Sharon’s brows reappeared. “She said her name was Natasha. So that’s what I’ve been calling her.”

Peggy was silent for several seconds, then made a considering noise before going back into the house.

Sharon stared after her and slowly returned to doing her exercises.

* * *

No one gave Natasha any indication of what the next day would bring. In a way, Natasha was accustomed to it. It wasn’t as if the Red Room believed in telling their agents what was going on. On the other hand, she couldn’t help but feel concerned. Her entire future rested on what they thought.

But she didn’t think asking what would happen to her would go over better at SHIELD than it did in the Red Room. 

The day came when it was time to leave, and Sharon and the old woman walked her and Fury out to the car. 

Natasha paused before taking her seat. Carelessly, she spoke to Sharon over her shoulder. “Your sparring will improve if you take some dance classes.”

She ducked into the car and closed the door, cutting off whatever they might have said afterward, and settled in her seat. She didn’t look at Fury.

“Probationary status for six months,” he said flatly. “Mandatory therapy. You’ll get your own room. Try not to kill any SHIELD agents.” He paused. “You’ll do fine, Romanoff.”

Even under pain of death, Natasha would never admit that those words were the first time she had been comforted by a superior. Nor would she ever admit that she was, in fact, comforted by them.

* * *

The next time Sharon saw Natasha, it was at the Academy. As before, Natasha trailed Nick, but it had been almost eight years since the mansion in Virginia, and Natasha now trailed Nick only because she was comfortable doing so. She was one of SHIELD’s top agents now. Which was one of the reasons it was odd to see her at the Academy.

Sharon kept an eye out for the two between classes. She never spoke to Nick when he came to visit, never let anyone know she’d known him since she was a child. She’d refrained from using her last name at the Academy as much as she could. She didn’t want people to say she was using Peggy to get ahead.

Nick was the same as he always had been, gruff and wry as he asked for reports and updates. Natasha was a startling contrast. She was bright and cheerful, making jokes with the people showing them around. Putting her best foot forward, Sharon realized. And why?

Hand-to-hand training was in the afternoon. As usual, Nick stood in the air-conditioned rooms above. Legend held that he did _not_ like the smell of sweat, though Sharon had seen him work out enough that she suspect he merely liked watching trainees suffer while he himself was comfortable. Natasha, on the other hand, drifted around on the floor, watching different agents on different mats. Sharon had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out that Nick and Natasha both stood with their hands clasped behind their backs. She wondered which one had started it and which one had mirrored it, and if the mirroring had been unconsciously done. 

But then she was set to spar against Morse, and there was no time to wonder about anything. Morse was one of the top in the class, and she and Sharon tended to switch out for number one. It was a friendly competition, really, but neither of them was inclined to take second place. 

Morse was one of the few female recruits taller than Sharon and knew how to press for an advantage. She was tough, fast, and resourceful. Sharon, more traditional in many ways, had her work cut out for her, and by the time she registered that Morse had paused, she was drenched in sweat and praying for a shower.

Especially after she found herself facing Natasha, with her immaculate curls and total lack of sweat.

Natasha dropped into a fighter’s stance, and Sharon barely had time to think, “Oh, shit,” before Natasha flew at her.

In retrospect, Sharon didn’t think she did terribly. She managed to block a lot, she thought she might have gotten a couple kicks in. She knew there had been spinning involved.

And then she was looking up at the ceiling, panting, feeling like her sweat was pooling around her.

“We really need to paint that,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the ceiling. “Maybe a kitten falling off a tree limb? _Hang in there._ ”

Morse snorted and helped her up. 

Natasha gave her the tiniest of nods. “Think faster,” she said. And then she was gone.

Sharon stared after her. What? Ugh. That was Natasha, she supposed. Still infuriating after all these years. She turned to Morse. “I don’t suppose you can carry me to the showers?”

Morse chuckled and bent over, and Sharon squealed as Morse carried her in a fireman’s heft. “After that beating you just took, I think it’s the only way to save what’s left of your dignity,” Morse teased.

* * *

Later, alone in her room, Sharon found that the bruises on her chest formed an incomplete H and an I. She smirked at her reflection. No one could ever say that Natasha wasn’t one of a kind.

* * *

Natasha survived Tony Stark. It wasn’t easy, and though Natasha readily admitted that she admired Pepper Potts, admitting that they were friends was a little harder. She was oddly tempted to send Sharon a note, telling her how well she was fitting in. 

But it was a weird thing to tell Sharon, just as it was weird that Natasha had spent so much time replaying their sparring session in her mind. Sharon was turning into a competent fighter, even by Natasha’s standards, and part of her was pleased while another part was frightened for reasons Natasha couldn’t identify. 

She avoided thinking about it.

Instead, Nick - and yes, she could call him Nick now when it was just the two of them - had put her on the Avengers Initiative. It had been part of her undercover mission with Stark, assessing him as a possible team member. After she ruled him out, there were others. People who had to be investigated more thoroughly than an NSA, SHIELD, or Google search would allow. It took time, took diligence. It didn’t allow for much outside of work. Which suited Natasha fine. Clint and Nick were all the social interaction she needed most days. 

On the days when they weren’t enough, she sometimes found herself visiting Director Carter again. Sharon, Carter told her, had graduated with honors. She had already been chosen for SHIELD’s Special Services. 

They talked about the Red Room sometimes, and Natasha, though surprised to find that Carter had known about the program in its infancy, found she didn’t mind talking to her about it. Carter understood things about Natasha’s past that the therapist didn’t. Carter knew when to keep her mouth shut.

During one visit, Peggy stopped in mid-sentence and looked at Natasha anew. “Oh! Natasha. Forgive me, I didn’t see you come in. But I suppose I wouldn’t, would I, if you didn’t want me to.” She laughed, and Natasha felt a weird sort of fear she hadn’t felt before.

Natasha smiled and played it off as if nothing had happened, but while she could ignore many things, she couldn’t ignore the ice burning her veins.

* * *

“I’m surprised you called,” Sharon said, sliding onto the stool beside her without preamble. She looked good, Natasha thought. Bright, cheerful. Vibrant. That disgusting, all-American wholesomeness. 

She held her finger up to the bartender, ordered two drinks, and then remembered that Sharon might want to drink something and ordered two more. “We need to talk.”

Sharon’s smile faltered. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I think your aunt has dementia.”

Sharon frowned. “Bullshit,” she said firmly. She straightened her back. She didn’t look as much like a featherless bird as she had years before, but there was still something adorably awkward about it. “Peggy’s as sharp as ever.”

“I went to visit her. We were talking. And then it was like she’d forgotten I was there.”

Sharon glared at her. “Bull. Shit. I don’t know if you think you’re making a joke, but it’s not funny, Natasha.”

Natasha crossed her arms and leaned against the bar. “I don’t like it, either, but I thought you should know.”

In all these years, Sharon had never learned subtlety. It was actually something Natasha admired. Whatever Sharon felt, she didn’t hide. She didn’t hold back. Whatever upbringing she’d had, she felt safe displaying whatever emotion she felt. 

And right now, that emotion seemed to be “pissed off as all fuck.”

Sharon slid off the stool and tugged on her coat. “Bullshit,” she repeated darkly.

Natasha didn’t speak as Sharon left. Only fear of the truth would make someone that angry. She accepted the four drinks in silence and drank them alone.

* * *

It was nearly two months before Sharon saw Natasha again. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought the agent was avoiding her. And then she realized that Natasha _was_ avoiding her. Which meant she was going to have to get sneaky to catch her. 

It took her another week to corner Natasha on the Helicarrier. As always, Natasha’s face was impassive. But Sharon could tell that Natasha had seen her by how hard Natasha was pretending not to have seen her.

“I owe you an apology.” Natasha’s eye flicked to her. Sharon forced an uneasy smile. “You were right. I- I spent more time with her after you- after we talked. Took her to some doctors. You were right. I talked to her family. We’ve decided to move her into an assisted living facility.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “That’s her new address.”

She watched as Natasha’s eyes zeroed in on the string of numbers at the bottom of the page. “And that’s my phone number,” she continued. “In case you notice anything else. Or want to say hi in a less painful way.”

She might have imagined it, but she thought Natasha grinned.

* * *

She saw Natasha more after that. The doctors had told Sharon that a regular schedule was important to Peggy, so Sharon put in a request to stay in DC and took to visiting Peggy like clockwork.

She wasn’t sure if Natasha intended it, but Natasha evidently took to visiting Peggy at regular times as well, coming out as Sharon was going in. 

Sometimes Natasha would wait until Sharon was ready to leave, and the two would get coffee together afterward and talk about work and the people they had crossed or who had crossed them.

Sharon wondered if Natasha enjoyed hanging out together as much as she did, wondered if Natasha thought as much about Sharon when she wasn’t around as Sharon did about Natasha. 

It took weeks to arrive at the decision, weeks more to actually do something about it.

* * *

The text from Sharon was brief. _If you want to go on a date, meet me at the Four Seasons Bourbon Steak. This Friday. 18:00._

Natasha reread it for the fourth time. She’d already committed it to memory, but she couldn’t help looking at it again and again as if making sure it were still there. Checking for some subtext that hadn’t been there before. After all, Sharon had never been subtle.

She wasn’t often blinded, but she had been this time. Looking back, she realized that she had been fascinated by Sharon, if not enamored, from the first time they met. How someone could be optimistic despite knowing what people were capable of, it had been... inspiring, in some ways. 

And it made sense, why Natasha hadn’t been able to stop herself from sparring with Sharon at the facility, why Natasha spent so much time picking up tidbits of information about Sharon from Carter. Why Sharon had unsettled her so much.

She went to the restaurant, sneaking in through a side entrance and watching Sharon from a dark corner. The blonde had dressed up for the occasion, her hair curled and piled atop her head, earrings and a thin and delicate bracelet that sparkled, a touch of eyeshadow, a peach dress with matching lip gloss that glinted in the low light. Now that she knew how Sharon felt, she could go over and wipe the lip gloss from Sharon’s lips, maybe with her thumb, maybe with her own lips. She’d kissed plenty of marks before, but she had never kissed someone who knew her, knew her for what she was and still liked her.

And that was why Natasha didn’t go near the table for the entire evening. Because Sharon was good, and Natasha wasn’t. Sharon was honest, Natasha wasn’t. Sharon was pure, Natasha wasn’t.

Sharon could love a monster, but monsters shouldn’t be loved.

Instead she sat for hours, watching as the hours passed and Sharon’s shoulders started to slump. Bread roll after bread roll, glass of white wine after glass of white wine, and still Sharon sat there. Still Natasha wondered about what would happen if she walked over as if she’d merely been running late - caught in traffic, maybe - and slid into the seat across from Sharon. Whose apartment would they go back to?

But in the end, the waitstaff approached Sharon to explain that they were closing, and Natasha slipped out before anyone noticed that she was still there.

None of it mattered anyway, she told herself. Not in the long run. Not when they found Captain America’s body soon after.


	2. Chapter 2

Only the body wasn’t a body, it was the man himself. SHIELD scrambled to transport him, heal him, give him everything he might need. Psychologists talked about how much of a jolt it would be for him to wake in a new century, suggested tricking him. Nick played along and watched to see how long Rogers could be fooled. He smirked at Natasha when Rogers broke through the goddamn wall.

“Gotta be a record,” he said, and then they were both running in separate directions, trying to head Rogers off before things got worse.

Nick calmed Steve down, got him settled, and they returned to their daily business of saving the world from itself.

Then Loki appeared and the Chitauri attacked, and Natasha drowned herself in saving Clint and then working with him again. Clint had always been able to read her well, but more importantly, they fought like they had been made to fight together.

The week ended with new notations for the Avengers Initiative files. The project might actually work if overseen properly, and there were good men on the team. The assessment included a positive assessment of Stark and praised Rogers’ and Banner’s work in the field. The month hadn’t been a total waste, for all that Clint had bugged her repeatedly about why she was acting weirder than normal.

* * *

“You’ve been working harder than usual,” Nick told her, and Sharon straightened her back and lifted her chin in defiance. He didn’t laugh at her, and she wondered if she was growing into the gesture. 

“After the Battle of New York, we’ve all had to work harder, sir.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Sharon. I know I’m your boss, but I’m saying this as someone who’s known you for years. You only do this shit when something’s wrong, so out with it. What’s wrong? Is it Peggy? Because if you need help...”

Sharon shook her head. Nick had already been incredibly accommodating about Peggy. None of Peggy’s direct family were involved with SHIELD, nor did they understand what went into taking care of a former director of SHIELD. Sharon sometimes got the impression that they would be glad if someone burned SHIELD to the ground. Nick, on the other hand, had helped with everything from doctor’s appointments to upgrading security at the assisted living facility to visiting Peggy every Saturday morning he could. In many ways, he was more family to Sharon and Peggy than their actual relatives.

“It’s personal. A relationship didn’t work out.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I need to kill a guy? I’m the director of SHIELD. I know how to hide bodies.”

Sharon grinned softly. More family to her than even her own father sometimes. “Her, actually.”

“I need to kill her?”

Her grin widened. “I don’t think you could, sir. But I appreciate the offer.”

He grunted. “I mean it, anyway. I don’t like people upsetting my agents.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. She wasn’t. She still felt horrible. She’d spent half her time getting ready this morning staring at her chest and wondering if its flatness had kept Natasha away, or if she needed to wear more makeup or do more with her hair. Maybe it was her personality. Maybe she was too bland and boring for someone like Natasha. It was illogical and stupid and left her feeling irritated. But Nick’s offer to kill someone who had upset her helped her feel a little less irritated. “Anything else I can do? Mission somewhere dangerous, maybe?”

Fury smirked. “No luck. You wouldn’t take it, either, not with Peg the way she is. No, I found you two things close to home.”

“Two?”

He nodded a tossed a small stack of files on the desk. “Project Insight. I need you help oversee it. It’s a pretty hush-hush project. Need to know. You’ll be one of the project managers. Take orders directly from me and the World Council. That’s your cover.”

Sharon glanced at him. A cover. Things had just gotten more interesting.

“I need you to babysit the Captain for me.”

She didn’t have to ask which Captain. There could only be one that he meant, only one that everyone talked about now. She groaned. “You can’t be serious!”

“I’m dead serious.” His tone made her close her mouth and try to be more professional. “He won’t stay here. I need someone I trust looking after him. Your team will be small, but you’ll be in charge. It’ll mean you going undercover as his neighbor.”

“What about Bobbi? Bobbi Morse. She’s _excellent_ at this sort of thing.”

“She’s infiltrating some cells in China. I need you on this.”

Sharon sank into her seat. “This isn’t because of Aunt Peggy, is it?”

“This is because I trust you and know you’ll do a good job,” he said, his voice firm. She couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “I’m stalling him with the move and getting you and some other agents in place first. Might want to start settling in tonight. And watch out for him, Sharon. He’s a smart one.”

* * *

He wasn’t just smart, he was hot. Much hotter than the history books had suggested. He didn’t seem to own a shirt that wasn’t skin tight.

More importantly, he was terrifically awkward, especially with women, and he still sometimes moved like he wasn’t used to how big his body was, like it still took him by surprise how tall he was. She would have thought it was adorable if she hadn’t known he’d had years to get used to being taller. She told Nick as such in her reports, and he’d asked if it seemed like a problem with the serum. She’d written back that she just thought he spent so much time in his mental-tiny-Steve-space that he didn’t always adjust quickly to his Cap-space.

He’d asked her what she meant, and she tried to explain. Yes, Steve and Captain America were the same guy, but they were different entities. Captain America was a good soldier, a piece of propaganda in the war machine. Steve Rogers was a good man who’d been beaten up in every alley in Brooklyn. He was insecure and idealistic. He was used to being a ninety-pound weakling who’d fight to the death for his ideals whether he could win or not. He was lonely.

So was she, frankly. She didn’t have anyone to talk to in the evenings other than Nick or her team, and since they worked in shifts she couldn’t always talk to them, either. Steve visited Peggy, so Sharon had to be more careful about visiting Peggy herself. Her friends from the Academy were unavailable. There was no way she was calling _that person_ to hang out. 

She unpacked over the course of two days. Painted her apartment three times. Fell into familiar little tasks of boredom that made her compose reports to Nick consisting of entirely of curse words in a multitude of languages. She never sent them off.

She flirted with Steve but tried to keep things from going too far. He needed someone better than she was, needed someone who wasn’t getting to know him under false pretenses or spying on him. He needed someone who was liked, loved, by people other than family. Sharon thought her coworkers respected her, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think they liked her.

She started watching the Bachelor. She discovered she hated the Bachelor. 

And then the night happened when Nick bled out on Steve’s floor, and her world imploded.

* * *

Natasha had checked the rosters and found that Sharon was safe. The people who had served under her were safe, too, and she was glad that Sharon didn’t have any deaths to blame herself for.

Steve, to his credit, wasn’t upset with her for trying to set him up with a SHIELD agent. It was another reason why she hoped he’d call Sharon, because Natasha couldn’t forgive as easily as Steve did.

She hadn’t forgiven herself for as long as she’s been alive. Didn’t see it happening in the future, either. But she still wanted Sharon to be happy, and she thought that maybe, just maybe, Steve could help her be happy.

* * *

Natasha wasn’t sure what she had with Bruce. There was something nice in knowing she had something in common with someone, in knowing they both thought they were monsters, in trying to wipe the red from their ledgers. 

But like so many things, it came to nothing. Monsters could not love each other when they knew what wreckage monsters left in their wake.

* * *

Steve sat with Sharon after the funeral, reflecting that they had finally met to get coffee. “I didn’t know you were her niece,” he said. It was the only thing he could think to say.

She glanced at her phone, not for the first time since she’d sat down. “Great-niece, actually.” She smiled. “She’s- she was an amazing woman, wasn’t she?”

Steve nodded, an ache in his chest. “She was.”

“I think that’s what getting me through this,” she continued. “Knowing that she mattered to so many people. She saved a lot of lives.” She leaned forward and looked into her coffee, her features falling.

Steve understood. Some of the worst news outlets talked about how Peggy had allowed Hydra to gain a foothold in SHIELD. He’d nearly punched the television the first time he’d seen it. “She did. Saved my neck a few times.”

She lifted her eyes and smirked at him, and for a second he remembered how much like Kate she was. But at the same time, not at all like Kate. Sharon was sharper. More cynical. “Oh, I know all about _those_ stories.”

He stared at her in alarm, and he couldn’t match her laugh afterward. He wasn’t convinced she was only teasing him. How much had Peggy told her? “Did Natasha know? Natasha Romanoff, I mean. Did she know that you and Peggy were related?”

Her eyes slid to her phone. “Yeah. She stayed with us one summer when she first defected. Visited Peggy a lot for a while. It really helped.” Something was wrong. Her voice suggested she was holding something back, and Steve wished he hadn’t taken coffee with her. He’d just wanted to apologize for being such an asshole to her before.

“If I’m keeping you...”

She froze, and her eyes went to her phone again. She bit her lip and slowly put her phone away. “Sorry. I’m being horrible. I just thought she’d call. We used to be close, but-”

“But you lied to her, too?” He kicked himself, kicked himself harder at how stricken she looked. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, it was deserved. I shouldn’t have lied to you. We weren’t sure how else to keep you safe. I’m sorry to have hurt you, though.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. You were doing your job, and I was an asshole.” She lifted her eyebrows, and he shrugged. “I was. You were trying to protect me. Not that I needed it, just-”

“Right, right,” she said enthusiastically. “Keeping in mind that I know a lot of stories about how stupid you can be, _and_ that I’ve seen you jump out of buildings and jump over planes.”

Steve rubbed his eyes. “I used my bike for that one, actually.”

“Wow. Talk about splitting hairs.”

He paused. The teasing felt normal, comfortable. Almost like how he’d felt with her before, when he’d flirted with Kate. “How much like her are you? Like Kate?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it as she considered the question with more thought. He appreciated that she wasn’t being flippant about it. “A lot,” she admitted after a while. “I’m not good at faking things. Fury just gave me that job because he trusted me. I actually failed the undercover course at the Academy twice.” She pointed to herself. “I mean, come on. I’m the person who threw her phone into the infectious disease clothes.”

Steve grinned and ducked his head. “Yeah, neither of us were really smooth.”

She smiled softly. “No, you were great. A faultless neighbor. Even took rejection gracefully. You must not know how rare that is. And I’m sorry about that, by the way. Normally, I would have. But with the whole undercover thing...”

He shrugged, thinking back to all the times he’d listened to music too loud or had spent hours on end moping around his apartment. He hadn’t been an ideal neighbor. Still, it was nice that she hadn’t taken the ruse farther. He wasn’t sure he could have forgiven her if she’d dated him as someone else. “Natasha was trying to set me up with you,” he admitted, as if that explained everything.

Her face fell. When she smiled again, her smile was sad. “Oh. That’s nice.”

The mood changed. It was evident she was trying to be cheerful still, but she wasn’t as cheerful as she had been before.

When they got up to leave, Steve pushed his chair back in. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he offered.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Steve. Mine doesn’t compare to- I’m sorry for yours.”

He wasn’t sure how he’d felt about that. People had talked about losing Peggy, but they hadn’t acted as if they thought he’d lost her. But maybe Sharon, given her connection to Peggy, would know. Or maybe she meant that she was sorry he’d lost so much more than Peggy. “Thank you,” he said at last, uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “Hey, do you have, I don’t know. A phone? Or something? In case something comes up.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I mean, you’re CIA now, right?”

Her eyes danced. “Yeah, I’ve got a phone.” She held it up to show him. “Do you have one, too? I’ll text you my number so you’ll have it.”

And that meant she would have his, wouldn’t it? He wasn’t sure how that would play out, but he knew enough about sad smiles not to want to see them on someone else’s face. He rattled off his number, and a few seconds later, he got a text. _How much does a polar bear weigh?_ He lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Enough to break the ice,” she told him aloud. “Hyuk hyuk hyuk.”

He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not, because that was worse than any line than he could have come up with. 

She stood awkwardly for a moment. “Okay. Well, if you need me, give me a ring.”

* * *

Sharon wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking by giving Steve her number. And she must have been insane to send him that joke. Polar bears. Jesus. And why the hell had she mentioned ice? Like, at all? It wasn’t like he had a history with it, right?

God.

He didn’t seem to take it personally, though. Or at least, he still texted her sometimes. Mostly to ask how she’s doing, and she wondered if she’d given him the wrong impression. Peggy had lived her life to the fullest. Sharon’s only regret was that Peggy had died dependent on others when Peggy had been so dedicated to independence in her own life. But then she wondered if Steve sent those texts when he was in one of his dour moods, and she fired off cheerful responses no matter how awful she felt. He needed cheerfulness more than she did, after all.

She had to admit, she enjoyed texting him. It was often the best part of her day, even though it was usually about mundane things like tourist sites in New York, or how technology had evolved. When she bought her new car, he was the person she talked to. When he wanted recommendations for burgers in Philadelphia, he texted her.

The texts went on for months. He called twice, both times nervous and hating to ask her to do something, but since she worked at the CIA...

And then one day he called and asked, “How much does a polar bear weigh?”

She groaned and rubbed her face with her free hand. “You had to remind me that I used that one, huh?”

“Not really a reminder?” He cleared his throat. “I just thought if you wanted to know the answer, I could tell you in person. You know. Maybe over burgers?”

Sharon thought of the last time she’d tried to go on a date with burgers. The best burgers in DC, where she’d had nothing but bread and wine while she waited for hours and then never heard from the person she’d hoped would show up.

“That would be great.”

* * *

She flashed him a smile as she sat across from him, and Steve hastily got to his feet before sitting again and discreetly wiping his hands on his trousers. Talking to women never seemed to get easier. 

“I’m glad you could make it,” he told her earnestly.

She smiled again. “Traffic. I didn’t want to be late, though.” 

Steve thanked his lucky stars that he’d shown up early himself. He’d hate to arrive to the date later than she did after he’d finally worked up the nerve to ask her out.

“The last date I went on, the person never showed up.”

Ah. There was the bad sign. He should have known this wouldn’t go perfectly. Well, he’d known it wouldn’t go perfectly. _He_ was here. “Then he was an idiot,” he said firmly.

“She, actually,” Sharon said, watching him closely. She took a sip of her water.

He understood why. Too many people thought he was old-fashioned about such things. “She’s an idiot, then.”

“Natasha Romanoff. Not exactly an idiot.”

Steve’s eyes widened, and he straightened in his seat. Holy crap. Had Natasha known? She must have known. Why had Natasha tried so hard to set him up with Sharon if she’d known Sharon liked her? “No, I get liking her, I do, but you’re wrong.” He saw Sharon’s brows start to furrow and hastened to finish. “If she stood you up, she _is_ an idiot.”

Sharon’s features softened, and she looked at the plate setting as if embarrassed. “Anyway, I guess what I wanted to say was thank you. For... asking me to dinner. And showing up.”

Something about how she’d added the last bit made him remember how many times he’d been rejected before the war, how he’d never made it to a date of his own. “Don’t mention it. I mean, I can remember how things used to be before I got the serum. No girl would look at me twice.”

“Yeah,” Sharon said dryly. “Me, too.”

His face fell. “Not like that! I didn’t mean-” He waved his hands, knocking his hand against his water glass and nearly spilling it.

She laughed and leaned in to move the glass to the side. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m only partly messing with you. What matters is that you looked at me twice, right? Hey, did you watch Parks and Recreation yet?”

Steve gave her an update on his and Sam’s progress, and how they’d each caught the other trying to watch without the other. 

They moved on to other topics, a little about their jobs without revealing too much, how they liked their new homes and coworkers. Steve was surprised when he realized they were some of the last people in the restaurant.

He walked her to her car, and though he found himself not wanting the night to end, he was glad for the kiss on his cheek.

“Do it again sometime?” she asked. “I’m free most nights for the foreseeable future.”

He grinned. “I’ve got a break this weekend. Want to try that new Smithsonian exhibit? ‘Many Voices, One Nation?’” He ducked his head. “I thought it might be interesting. Even though I might be older than some of the contributors.”

She chuckled, and he grinned. “Meet you there at 11 on Saturday? Grab lunch in the cafe and then make an afternoon of it?”

He nodded. “Sounds great.” If this was what dating could be, he thought, then no wonder Bucky had been after him to try it.

* * *

Lunch gave way to an afternoon together, which in turn gave way to dinner. It would have turned into breakfast, too, maybe, if an emergency call hadn’t come in. 

Steve boarded the quincarrier as Maria filled him in over the comms. No enemies this time, which was a relief. Just a typical evac situation. 

When he got a moment alone with Natasha, he nudged her arm. “Have to ask. Why’d you stand up Sharon?”

She looked at him long enough that he knew she hadn’t known he was seeing Sharon. “People like her don’t date people like me.”

Steve shrugged. “Pretty sure when a girl asks you out, it’s because she wants to date you.”

Natasha hmphed. “Sounds like my loss was your gain, Rogers.”

He frowned after her. She was right, but something still sat wrong with him about the whole thing. But it wasn’t his place to pry. Not yet, anyway. Not until he knew more. Though there wasn’t much of a chance of that. As much as he knew and trusted Natasha, and felt Natasha was the same with him, he knew that Natasha didn’t give anything up unless she wanted to.

* * *

Natasha told herself she was happy for Sharon. And she was. She was happy for Steve, too. A disgustingly all-American couple, finding happiness with each other. What more could anyone want?

Personally, Natasha wanted Steve to stop bringing Sharon to the Avengers get-togethers. Sure, Sharon was great at helping to smoothe things over, but that wasn’t the point. Sharon was a distraction. Natasha couldn’t help but be aware of her, of the way she bent closer to people when they talked, how sometimes a wisp of hair would come loose and Steve would tuck it in place for her like it was the most natural thing in the world, or, oddly worse, how he wouldn’t tuck the hair in place and would just curl it gently around his finger as the two listened to whoever spoke.

She could really learn to hate them, she decided. It was her fault, but that didn’t stop her from hating them a little. 

Not that she wasn’t glad for them. They were both good people. They seemed to make each other happy. Good for them.

Selfishly, she hoped she wasn’t imagining that Sharon sometimes seemed distracted by her, too.

* * *

“You still love her, don’t you?” Steve’s voice was quiet, and Sharon walked a little closer to him. It was freezing out, and he always walked to block the wind. She knew he did it on purpose, though he never mentioned it.

“Probably always will,” she admitted. They had established a no-lying policy on their second date. After the way they had first met, they’d decided it was wise. She could opt out of answering, but she didn’t see why she should. He already knew about Natasha. “She was my first big crush.”

Steve was quiet so long that she bumped her arm against his.

“What gives? You’re the one I’m with. The one I love.” She saw his pained expression and moved still closer. “What’s wrong, Steve?”

He stopped. They were a block from her house. “That’s just it. I don’t think I’m the one you love, Sharon.”

She stared at him. She started to feel a little sick and wished she hadn’t eaten so many shrimp at the restaurant.

“I think you’re still in love with her, and I... I don’t want to be in this relationship if you’re not in it.”

“But I _am_ in it,” she insisted.

He pressed his lips together. “When she’s around, you spend as much time watching her as you do talking to me. That’s... not love, Sharon. Not to me.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “I’ll walk you to your door-”

She took a hasty step backward. “No, I’ve got it. Agent, remember? I’ve got this.” She swallowed down the urge to cry as Steve shifted awkwardly and nodded. She turned toward her apartment, knowing he wouldn’t leave until she was safely inside. 

She didn’t bother to look outside once she’d locked the door behind her. She hadn’t been dumped in a long time; she’d forgotten how much it hurt. And none of the others had been so good and perfect and stubborn and dorky as Steve. And he’d dumped her for such a stupid reason. What was she supposed to do, date a woman who wasn’t taking her calls?

Sharon swallowed again and pulled out her phone. She touched the icon for Peggy’s phone and listened to it ring twice before she remembered that no one would answer.

She hung up and set the phone aside, hugging herself as she told herself that if Natasha and Steve didn’t want her, that was fine. She could live just fine without them.

She didn’t believe it for a second, but she had to try. It wasn’t as if she had any other choice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharon doesn't talk to Natasha after all, instead disappearing. Steve and Natasha make some calls to find her, then settle down to wait in her apartment... with each other.

Steve started to worry. Days passed, then weeks, and still Natasha was just as dour as she usually was. He knew her well enough to know it wasn’t fake, either.

At length, he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. It had been driving him nuts for weeks how Natasha only spoke to him when she had to. She avoided him altogether at the get-togethers, avoided looking at him when they trained the other Avengers. He understood that she was probably upset he was dating Sharon, even though she was the one who had brought them together in the first place, but she was supposed to be dating Sharon, which meant he should have his friend back and everyone should be happy. 

Instead, none of them seemed to be happy. Or at least, he had to assume so. He hadn’t heard from Sharon, Natasha wasn’t talking to him...

He set his jaw and stood next to her as she watched news feeds from around the globe. “Hey.”

She grunted in response. She tensed and didn’t look at him. Still jealous but unwilling to admit it.

Steve rubbed his jaw. What the hell? And then he realized. If Natasha was still grumpy with him, still jealous, maybe it was because she thought he was still with Sharon. Which meant the two of them weren’t together. Oh, crap. “Did Sharon ever call you?”

Natasha frowned. “Why would she call? You two getting married?”

He frowned. Briefly, he considered dancing around the issue, but he’d never been a good dancer, and Natasha seemed to prefer people being upfront and direct with her when she needed to know something. “No, she was still in love with you, so I broke up with her so that you two could, you know. Date.”

Natasha went perfectly still, and Steve felt himself tense. He’d been a soldier long enough to know that this was the calm before the storm. When she spoke, her voice was measured. “I turned her down. Years ago.”

“Stood her up,” Steve corrected.

She glared at him. “She was supposed to date you.”

Steve shrugged, but his fingers twitched for his shield. “She’s still in love with you.”

“She said that?”

“Yeah. We have - had - a no-lying policy.”

“And did you ask if she loves you?”

Steve nodded once. “And she says she does, but I don’t want to date someone who’s still in love with someone else.”

Natasha went quiet. “Goddamn it,” she whispered, her shoulders falling. “You fuck up.”

Steve stared at her, but his jaw clenched as his anger mounted. “I want her to be happy. How is that me being a fuck up?”

“She _was_ happy with you, you dumbass.” Natasha rubbed her temples. “Where is she?”

Steve hesitated. He hadn’t talked to her since they’d broken up, Natasha hadn’t talked to her... He shrugged. “I don’t know. Home, I would imagine.”

“ _Idiot,_ ” she snapped before walking off.

Steve stared after her. Natasha had never used that tone with him before.

* * *

Sharon wasn’t at home. Fortunately, Natasha wasn’t one to panic easily. _Un_ fortunately, she found it harder not to panic when she tried Sharon’s number and got a message saying it had been disconnected. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall of Sharon’s latest - no, former - apartment building. 

“I like to think I’m pretty smart,” Steve said from beside her, and Natasha jumped. She hadn’t even heard him come up. “But you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on. I get that you like her. I get that she likes you. I don’t get why you two can’t - I don’t know. Like each other together?”

Natasha scowled and punched in another number on her phone. She hesitated before she hit the last digit. “Think of it like this. You two are a lot alike. You’re idealistic but not naive. You chose to risk your lives saving people. You’re more at home with puppies and with eating hot dogs at a baseball stadium than you are standing in a field of corpses. People like the two of you don’t go for people like me. Not really. Maybe as a walk on the wild side, but you would never really care. I’m not idealistic. I’m just doing this to make up for what I was made to do. I don’t actually like puppies or hot dogs, and American sports bore me.”

Steve leaned against the wall beside her. “That’s a lie. I’ve seen you play with puppies. You even wave to them when you think no one’s watching.”

She glared at him as she touched the final digit. “Maria. Hi. I need to know where Sharon is. ASAP. No, that’s classified. I just need a location. Thanks.”

She hung up and took a deep breath.

Steve didn’t speak.

Neither did she. Until, at last, her anger boiled to the surface again. Her voice was calm as she said, “She’s lost SHIELD, Peggy, and now you. She still doesn’t have friends at the CIA. They don’t trust her because she was SHIELD. The Avengers and SHIELD don’t trust her because she works for the CIA. She needed something good in her life, she needed you, and you dumped her.”

“You stood her up,” Steve pointed out. “She needed you, and you stood her up.”

Natasha steeled her jaw. “I was there.” He turned his head to look at her, and she looked away. “She wore a peach dress. Wore makeup. Did her hair. Drank white wine and ate bread until the place closed.” She shrugged. “I knew I’d never make her happy. That she’d just end up getting hurt worse in the end. So I didn’t do anything. Thought she’d be happier without me.”

Steve paused. “Did you _want_ to do something?”

She hesitated, then nodded. She could still remember how tempted she’d been to do something right then and there.

He huffed a sigh. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but when she turned to glare at him, he was running his hand through his hair, and she couldn’t see his face. “This... isn’t how I thought my life would go,” he admitted. “I mean, I’ve gotten some surprises before. Not dying. New century. But this... We’re in love with the same woman.”

Natasha smirked, but her heart wasn’t in it. “What are we supposed to do? Fight each other for her?”

He grinned. “How about we talk first?” he suggested. “Somewhere public. Where you can’t kill me if things get out of hand.” He pushed himself away from the wall.

She fell into step beside him. “I can kill you in a crowd of people easy, Rogers.”

His grin widened. “I know. But I’m hungry.”

* * *

They stopped in an all-night diner around the corner. Neither of them spoke about the matter at hand as they found seats out of the way, and they didn’t speak of it as they placed their order. Didn’t whisper about it as they checked their surroundings to ascertain the threat level and note whether or not someone might be listening in. It felt comfortable, he thought. Like having his friend back.

Once he was sure it was safe, he met her eye. “So it sounds like she loves us both.”

Her face was nearly impassive, but he could see the faint trace of surprise, the hint of panic. Natasha could love more easily than she used to, but it was still hard for her to accept love in return. “And you’re suggesting...”

He leaned back. “I have no idea.”

* * *

The arguments were surprisingly civil, or so Natasha thought. Once she realized that he wanted what was best for Sharon, too, her temper cooled. She approached the situation much like they would a mission, hunkered around Sharon’s coffee table with Steve, notes spread over the table and her coffee set carefully on a coaster. They spent as much time at Sharon’s as they could, waiting for her to come home in lieu of Maria not being able to find out where she was.

Natasha wasn’t sure why they were both waiting in her apartment when they could have taken shifts, but neither of them left if they could help it. She supposed they were both worried about Sharon and wanted to make sure she got home safely from wherever she was. Steve insisted on taking the couch at night. Natasha dug out a sheet from Sharon’s linen closet (because of _course_ Sharon was the sort of person who would have a linen closet; how could she and Steve not see that Sharon and Natasha were wrong for each other?) and slept in Sharon’s bed, on top of the covers.

The result was simultaneously strange and comfortable. Even though it was Sharon’s apartment, even though she wasn’t sure Sharon would even want her there, Natasha had practiced the art of pretending to belong wherever she was, but after a while, she didn’t have to pretend anymore; Steve had spent enough time there that he seemed to feel at home regardless. They didn’t have a schedule, but Natasha still found she could rely on some things to happen. He was the early riser of the two and made sure coffee was ready for the pair of them each morning. They would debate the best way to talk to Sharon, how best to tweak the training for the new Avengers, what delivery place had the best pizza. They worked their way through Sharon’s Netflix account during the day, and in the evenings, Steve would cook dinner. Sometimes they would go on a jog together through the neighborhood. She had to admit, it was nice, in a way. Like having her friend back.

They still had to fly out to Ithaca every so often, or make emergency runs around the globe, and as the weeks wore on and they left notes for Sharon on her fridge with their phone numbers in case she returned while they were gone, her apartment started to feel like home. It was still Sharon’s apartment, but it was becoming home.

All the while, their debates on how to resolve the situation continued. It wasn’t all they talked about, but it was always on their minds. As it turned out, neither of them had any idea on how to resolve the issue. They both agreed not to try and evenly split Sharon’s time between them. It felt too much like it could lead to some sort of custody dispute, and neither of them liked the implications of “sharing” Sharon between them.

The more they talked it over, the more Natasha disliked the idea of Sharon not being with Steve, even though Steve insisted Sharon loved Natasha. Steve was a good man. He genuinely wanted both Sharon and Natasha to be happy, even at the expense of his own happiness. He wasn’t bitter about it, he wasn’t angry. He wanted what was best for the people he cared about, he said, and that was that. Sharon, Natasha knew, would be lucky to be with him - and Steve would be lucky to be with Sharon. Hell, Natasha knew how lucky she was just to have Steve as a friend.

And they _were_ friends. They’d always worked well together. Even though she had given Steve the cold shoulder when he’d started dating Sharon, they were still friends. She apologized for her own bitterness over Steve and Sharon by getting more DVDs for Steve’s modern-day education, the movies Netflix couldn’t get their hands on, and as they slowly made Sharon’s living space their own and watched the movies together on Sharon’s couch with a bowl of popcorn between them, it became their way to end the day.

“Maybe we should just let her choose,” Steve suggested one evening. _Free Willy_ was on, and Natasha was waiting semi-patiently until they could switch over to _Seven Sumarai._

“And each make the case for the other person?” She was only half-teasing. They both thought Sharon would be happier with the other.

Steve looked at her, then, and suddenly the moment felt too much like a Norman Rockwell painting, like she could sit here teasing him and he look back at her with that odd expression on his face for eternity. She clamped down on the panic. “Yeah. Why not?”

She kept clamping down. Calm and comfortable, Natalia. Calm and comfortable. “We’ll see.”

She wasn’t a Norman Rockwell kind of girl. She wasn’t like them. One day they’d see that.

* * *

She began noticing more things after that, and none of them were things she wanted to notice. How considerate Steve was by washing all the towels and hanging her preferred one closer to the shower, for instance. Or how he was careful to be quiet in the morning so he didn’t wake her when he went on his morning runs. 

The worst part was when she noticed how his jogging pants clung when he was sweaty. After she noticed _that,_ she tried to avoid him in the mornings.

* * *

Steve first noticed something was odd when Natasha sat farther away when they watched movies together. Then he noticed that she kept her head down during their Avengers meetings, that she avoided looking at him. No, she avoided _him._ She looked at him less, talked to him less, was in the same room with him less.

They took their seats for movie night, as usual, but Steve set the remote aside. “You’re avoiding me again,” he said firmly. “Now tell me why so we can get past it.”

She studied the blank screen. “Sharon would be lucky to have you.”

He frowned at her. “We’ve been over that. Ad nauseum. You say you think she’d be lucky to have me. I say I think she’d be lucky to have you.”

She was silent. If he hadn’t known her so well, he would have thought she got distracted, or that she forgot what they were talking about. But this was Natasha. She didn’t get distracted, nor did she forget. He waited her out and was finally rewarded with a quiet, “Why? I treated her badly. I’ve done things she wouldn’t even want to know about. The people I’ve killed- she couldn’t even wrap her head around it, wouldn’t want to try. People like me aren’t worth loving.” Not even Bruce had thought she was worth loving in the end. Natasha had gone and stuck her neck out like a damn fool, and he’d run away from her. Correction: flown away. Which was worse, somehow, even though the end result was the same.

Steve’s frown deepened. “Don’t- don’t let yourself think like that. You save people on a daily basis, Nat. People look up to you. You took what people made you and found a way to make yourself. Think about it. It’s pretty incredible that you survived at all, but that you managed to keep your sanity and become Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow and Avenger? Come on. I can see what Sharon sees in you.”

She didn’t speak, and after several minutes, he leaned over and nudged her arm.

“Come on, Nat. I know you’re listening.”

She cleared her throat. “The movie’s not going to watch itself, Steve.”

“Not without eyes and a mirror,” Steve joked. The cheesiness of the joke made her miss Sharon all over again. The two dorks really were suited to each other, damn it.

Natasha glared at him.

“Sharon would have liked it,” he griped good-naturedly.

She clenched her jaw. “Going to bed,” she muttered.

He stared after her, wondering what the hell he had said.

* * *

If she’d had the super soldier serum like he did, the shadows under their eyes would have matched. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all, and though Steve hadn’t either - she’d heard him tossing and turning on the couch all night long - but he still looked much the same. It was one of the most infuriating things about him, she decided. 

She crossed her arms and watched as Steve fixed himself some cereal. As if that would fill him up for the day. He’d probably drag her down to the diner so she could watch him eat the entire menu later. 

When he finished pouring the milk, she cleared her throat.

He’d known she was there. They both knew that. But at the sound, his head popped up, and he looked at her expectantly.

“We work well together, right?” she began, and then she mentally kicked herself. That wasn’t how she’d rehearsed it around three that morning.

He nodded and, as hungry as he must have been, pushed the cereal to the side. 

Natasha opened her mouth and weighed her next words carefully. “What if... we both stayed with Sharon?”

He didn’t speak, and it was lucky she knew him well enough to know he was considering her words.

“Together,” she clarified belatedly. 

He blinked at her.

She held her breath. She had already decided on a backup plan for if this didn’t work, but it would be nice if she didn’t have to jettison herself into the sun or, Plan C, live on a raft in the ocean and name all of the fish that followed her tiny craft before eventually killing them for dinner one at a time.

Not that she’d thought about it. 

Just like she hadn’t thought that the most realistic option was that she leave the Avengers for a while and go on a series of death-defying missions where no one could contact her. That was Plan L.

At last, he moved. It was only a twitch of his shoulders, but it was movement. “The three of us?”

She nodded, her voice in her throat.

“How would that work?” he wondered aloud.

Her hope faltered. It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes, either. “I don’t know. I’ve never been part of a pair before. Not really.” Not one where emotions mattered and she didn’t plan on leaving as soon as she got what she wanted. “Definitely haven’t been part of a threesome. I guess we’d have to work it out as we go.”

Again, he fell into silence. It lasted long enough for her to fidget. “Maybe we should try the pair thing first? See how it works?”

* * *

Being part of a pair, Natasha decided, was actually pretty nice. Having someone to lean into while she watched movies was enjoyable. Going grocery shopping with someone else was kind of fun, and not just because he’d give her a knowing look in the checkout line and then buy her a pack of bubblegum. 

There were still times when she felt like she didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to be happy. Times when she thought he would see her for what she was.

And Steve, to his infinite credit, was careful to pay attention to her moods. Or maybe he just did it naturally. Whenever she pulled away, though, he was there, asking if she was okay. And they were friends, so she told him, told him that one day he’d see her for what she was and that he’d leave and regret ever knowing her.

He pressed her knuckles to his lips. “I already see you for what you are. And I’m not going anywhere.”

* * *

When Natasha fell asleep against Steve’s side while watching movies, he let her lie against him, not moving so as not to wake her.

After that, she slept with him on the couch. Even though they both knew the bed would be more comfortable, and there was a real danger that one of them would fall off the couch in the middle of the night, which Steve found out the hard way one notable Tuesday night, neither of them wanted to be in the bed together without Sharon.

And still they waited for Maria to call them back.

* * *

Natasha had always thought that romance would be like it was in the films, with a meet-hate setup and a best friend who was supportive to the point of forgetting all of her own interests. She’d noticed how love worked in American rom-coms - women who built up their careers only to be knocked down and taught the importance of relaxation, love, and family by a man with no personal motivations.

She’d never wanted those things. She had been foolish enough to think that perhaps Sharon had wanted something like that, years ago. Part of her had still thought that people wanted those movies for themselves until she was with Bruce. 

But Steve didn’t seem to want those things at all. He never pushed her to relax. He never told her not to take a mission. Never told her how many children he wanted her to have. Maybe he knew she couldn’t have them. Maybe he didn’t. He didn’t seem to care either way, so long as she was happy.

Their first kiss was during an episode of Cupcake Wars. They’d just come home from the diner, and Steve’s breath smelled faintly of bacon and coffee and the omelette he’d eaten. It wasn’t a good kiss; he was nervous enough that he first got the upper ridge of her lips. But it was nice, in its own way, and she decided that she could practice with him happily enough. It would be no trouble, given that she had a new appreciation for bacon and coffee and whatever kind of omelette he’d eaten.

He seemed to think she was enough as she was, and sometimes, Natasha allowed herself to wonder if Sharon had thought the same.

Sometimes, she even allowed herself to think she _was_ enough, for him, for her, for herself. Sometimes, she even believed it.

* * *

And then came the morning where Steve woke her up, cursing in her ear. Natasha sprang up instantly, her fists up and ready to strike out before looking around blearily. Who was attacking them?

Steve was already on his way to the door. “Sharon,” he said over his shoulder, and it was all the explanation she needed.

Natasha took in the sight of the rumpled blanket on the couch, the empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table. Her and Steve’s shoes kicked off haphazardly at the door. Of course, that was how _she_ saw it. Looking at it as Sharon might, she saw Sharon’s blanket on Sharon’s couch, Sharon’s empty popcorn bowl on Sharon’s coffee table, and her and Steve’s shoes by _Sharon’s_ door.

She cursed and ran out the door after Steve.


	4. Chapter 4

She’d only gone down two flights of stairs when Steve came bounding back up.

“She’s not down there,” he said, talking fast. Speaking like that was the closest he got to panicking. “I checked the lobby and the street. She’s not down there.”

Natasha looked past him, then toward the street where Sharon would have left her car. Where would Sharon have gone? She shook her head. Of course. “She knows how fast you are. She wouldn’t go that way. She knows you’d catch up too fast.” She turned and headed back upstairs. She wasn’t surprised to find herself scooped into Steve’s arms and carried the rest of the way up, reaching the rooftop door in a fraction of the time.

He set her down outside the door, and they met each other’s eyes before Natasha carefully turned the knob. She’d barely opened it when she froze. She could hear sobbing, and she had _never_ heard Sharon sob before. She’d never even seen Sharon cry.

She barreled through in her haste to comfort Sharon, to assure Sharon that everything was okay. She never wanted to hear Sharon cry again. 

Sharon spun and glared at her. Her face was red and tear-stained, her eyes wet and glossy. “ _No,_ ” she said, her voice shaking in anger. She stepped away from them. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to _do_ this!”

Natasha held up her hands. “Sharon-”

“Fuck you!” she snapped. “It isn’t- It wasn’t enough? Everything else wasn’t enough? I had to come find you together on my _couch?_ ” She hugged herself. “I don’t deserve that. _Nobody_ deserves that.” She bit her lip. “I loved you!” The tremble in her voice made Natasha’s heart ache. “I loved both of you, and you-” She clapped a hand over her mouth and turned away. Her shoulders shook.

Natasha took a step closer. “Peach.”

Sharon’s breath came out in a rasp. Her chest heaved, and she leaned against the wall of the utility outpost “What?”

“You wore a peach dress. You had white wine and bread. You waited until they closed.” Natasha shrugged as Sharon slowly turned to face her. “I was there. I-” She hesitated. Emotional honesty had always been more Sharon’s thing than her own. But she’d done enough harm by not saying anything. If she wanted to start fixing it, she had to be honest now. “I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Sharon stared at her. “You never-”

“I know. I never talked to you about it. I thought you’d be happier with someone else. Somebody better. That’s why I tried to set you up with this asshole.” She inclined her head toward Steve. “Only he dropped the ball, too.”

“I thought you’d be happier with Natasha,” Steve admitted. “I thought you were going to call her, but she kept acting like a jealous asshole toward me. I finally asked her how you two were doing. It never occurred to me that you wouldn’t call.”

Sharon stared at them both.

Natasha stared back. She got the distinct impression that they’d screwed up, that they still needed to do more to win her over. “We were waiting for you,” she said quickly. “We-” She waved her hand helplessly. “We wanted to make sure you were happy. We wanted to be here when you got home. Wanted to make sure you were safe. Your phone wasn’t working.”

But now, all of their possible solutions sounded stupid. How could Sharon want them when they had hurt her so much? Maybe the best thing to do was tell her they loved her but they had to leave before they hurt her more. She swallowed thickly.

“We thought we’d let you choose,” Steve suggested, and Natasha felt her gut twist. What a ridiculous notion. Why hadn’t it occurred to them before how stupid the idea was? “Or, if you think you can still love both of us, we’d be willing to do that, too.”

Sharon sniffled.

The three of them stood on the roof. Both she and Steve watched Sharon closely as she alternated between watching them right back or looking anywhere but at them. Her head tilted slightly in different directions as she weighed the options. Natasha could hear car horns in the distance. If there was a global emergency right now, the Avengers were going to have to wait.

“How would that work?” Sharon asked at last. “The... three of us? Do you two...”

Natasha nodded; Steve took her hand. Natasha clutched it tighter and stepped toward Sharon. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“We’re willing to try it,” Steve interjected, “if you are. Without you, though, there’s no us.”

Natasha glanced back at him, and their eyes met. She could just date Steve, she thought. She liked Steve. But neither of them could do that to Sharon. It would haunt her. _That,_ she realized, would make her the monster she feared she was. Earning the trust of someone who genuinely cared for her, that she cared about in return, and ruining it irrevocably. 

She hesitated, then moved a little closer to Sharon and gently, a little clumsily, pressed her lips to Sharon’s. The kiss lasted only a moment before Natasha pulled away. Her heart hammered in her chest. She wasn’t afraid, she told herself. She wasn’t.

But time stretched on, and still Sharon only stared at her. 

Natasha stared back, unwilling to show how uncomfortable she was.

Sharon swallowed. “You’re a worse kisser than Steve.”

Natasha glared, but she knew she couldn’t argue with the assessment. It hadn’t been her best kiss. “So help me practice,” she challenged.

Sharon looked between her and Steve, but she was leaning forward in interest. “You’re really willing to try this?” she asked.

Natasha turned to Steve. “Are you?”

Sharon swallowed, and Natasha realized she wasn’t the only one who was scared of how this might go.

Impulsively, Natasha reached out and wiped a tear from Sharon’s cheek.

Sharon gave her a watery smile. “I’d rather try than not.”

* * *

They hadn’t even reached the stairwell before Sharon asked again, “So... how would this work?”

Natasha sighed. She’d forgotten what a stickler for rules Sharon could be, how badly she needed to know what the plan was. Steve had been like that once, and Sharon would still break the rules if she thought she needed to, but until then, Sharon was the sort to read the rulebook and circle the typos. This was the girl who had decided her career path by the time she was seven years old and had stuck to it. “We don’t know. We don’t do this all the time, Sharon.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “I’m just asking. Like, what ideas do you two have?”

Steve cleared his throat, and Natasha smirked. She’d suspected he’d liked the kiss earlier, as sloppy as it had been. “We hadn’t really thought that far,” he admitted. “We weren’t sure you’d even want us.” 

She grabbed his hand. “Don’t be an idiot. Of course I wanted you. I tried not wanting either of you, and it didn’t work.” Sharon glanced at Natasha, hesitated, then kissed Steve on the mouth. It was an easy kiss, built on familiarity, and just as Natasha felt the beginning pangs of jealous, Sharon tugged Natasha closer. This kiss was much better than their first, leaving Natasha’s heart hammering for an entirely different reason. 

“I was just asking,” Sharon said, her breathlessness matching Natasha’s, “because I’m not sure you two want to keep sleeping on the couch.”

* * *

They didn’t have sex that night. They didn’t even try. Instead, they stayed up for hours and talked in Sharon’s bed. Steve and Natasha went into more detail about what they’d been doing while Sharon was gone, and Sharon tried not to wonder how much of her popcorn and ice cream they’d eaten.

She lay between them, and though she knew she perhaps ought to feel awkward, she was only worried about the details. Should she hug them before she fell asleep? Should she try and touch both of them while she slept, or maybe neither? 

But for what it was, her, lying between two of the people she was closest to, she was at peace with it. Perhaps peace was the wrong word. She was comfortable with it. Or at least, she could get comfortable with it if it became her new normal.

Natasha rolled onto her side. “So where were you, anyway? We called Maria so much she almost stopped taking our calls.”

Sharon snorted. “After Steve dumped me, I called Nick and asked for something off the books.”

Natasha and Steve froze. Rousing himself, Steve sat up to better look at her. “ _Nick?_ ”

Sharon nodded. “I couldn’t just go into work again like nothing happened.” She’d tried. She’d spent most of the time wondering what was wrong with her, telling herself she was good without them, quite fine being single, thank you, and then telling herself that she had to work harder to believe it. It hadn’t gone well.

But they’d already seen her cry; she didn’t want them to know how broken she’d felt after they had both rejected her. She didn’t want to give them reason to leave her again. 

Instead, she told them how she’d asked Nick to send her on a mission, one that would test her and keep her mind off things. He’d found one, and she’d gone. She didn’t tell them much about the mission, knew they’d think it was because Nick would want to keep it secret. But she also knew that Nick would never volunteer the information, and if she didn’t want Natasha and Steve to know how emotionally vulnerable she’d been, she certainly didn’t want them knowing about some of the things she’d done while undercover.

She finished the story by explaining how Bobbi had found her and told her to go home. 

She decided to end it there. No need to describe how Nick had told her that Natasha and Steve had been trying to track her down, how she had rushed home after that to call them only to find them intertwined on her couch.

Instead she shrugged. “And now I’m here. Wondering if you guys ate all my ice cream.”

Steve groaned. “I get hungry sometimes,” he said defensively. “And I can’t help it if most of your food is junk and ice cream is the healthiest stuff you had.” He paused. “I mean, have.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. Good to see he hadn’t learned to lie while she was away. “You’re buying me more.”

“I know, I know.” He groaned and dropped his face into the pillows. His arm snaked around her waist, and she exhaled in contentment. After the time she’d had, she felt better for having the warm and familiar human contact.

* * *

Sharon was asleep in minutes, and Natasha rolled onto her side to watch Steve absently stroke Sharon’s midriff with a thumb. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to hold her like that, too, but she didn’t think what she was feeling was jealousy. 

Since she knew Steve wouldn’t move if it meant disturbing Sharon, Natasha was the one who bent over to pull the blanket from the foot of the bed and cover him and Sharon with it. She sat there, looking down at them, and part of her was pained that Sharon no longer looked so carefree and determined as when they had been younger. Even asleep, she looked worn. There had been more to her mission than she was willing to tell them.

And Natasha was the last person who could help her with that. Natasha had seen too much, done too much. As much as she did to atone, she had to acknowledge that it may never be enough. How could she possibly help Sharon when she couldn’t help herself?

“We’ll make it work,” Steve said, his voice quiet.

Natasha got up and turned off the lights.

* * *

Awkwardness was unavoidable. Sharon’s apartment was small, and while two people could manage the single bathroom just fine, three people made things more difficult. Both Sharon and Natasha had an unspoken agreement to always let Steve shower first so he’d always have hot water, but it was more complicated when all three of them had emergency calls at once. 

Sharon and Natasha’s makeup became something of a juggling competition as well, and Sharon tried not to let it bother her that her counter was so small that she and Natasha were always on top of each other, squeezing in front of the small mirror to do their makeup, sometimes having to wipe off condensation if Steve was showering at the same time. Sharon went without much makeup most of the time anyway, but there were times when she was stuck in meetings all day where she’d be judged more on her makeup than her accomplishments in the field. She was more grateful than she wanted to say when Natasha stopped doing her own makeup one day and fixed Sharon’s makeup instead. It wasn’t Natasha’s way of getting Sharon out of the way faster so she could do her own makeup, or at least, it wasn’t just that. It was her way of saying that the tight arrangement could work. 

Sharon got more compliments than she ever had before about her looks that day, and she thanked Natasha when she got home with a big enough kiss that Natasha pretended to be disgusted before hesitantly pulling Sharon closer.

The kitchen was too small, too. Steve ate like a herd of elephants. Natasha didn’t eat as much - bless her for not having a super soldier’s metabolism - but she still held her own, as did Sharon. To make matters worse, they all had different tastes. Steve preferred to cook, Natasha preferred to microwavable dinners, and Sharon preferred takeout. The end result was that her freezer wasn’t big enough, her fridge wasn’t big enough, and they ate as often out of tupperware as they did off of plates.

Her bed, she was sorry to say, wasn’t going to pass muster, either. A queen could do for two people, and if one of those people was Steve, he could curl up or have his feet sticking out from under the blankets just fine, but three was a tighter fit. Sharon just supposed she was lucky that, when she’d had a nightmare three nights after she’d come back, she’d elbowed Steve in the eye and not Natasha. Steve healed far faster.

They were on top of each other whenever they were all at home, but Sharon was glad that they each seemed determined not to make the others feel awkward. It wasn’t that any of them were uncomfortable with just one of the others, it was that they were still navigating how to interact when there were three of them together. They were each careful to pay the other two equal attention, and each went out of their way for the others. Steve cooked, Natasha took to setting and clearing the table, Sharon cleaned the dishes.

There were times when she thought it might actually work, and then there was the moment that she realized it _was_ working. Steve had fallen asleep on the couch, and Natasha had set the popcorn bowl on his head so both she and Sharon could reach it, and in that moment, it occurred to Sharon that she didn’t want them to leave, that she wanted the weird little relationship they had. 

She also realized she was going to have to get a bigger place.

She gently shook Steve’s shoulder and looked at the two of them. “I’m thinking about moving and getting a bigger place.” And then, just in case they were confused about whether or not she wanted them to come along, she added, “With a bigger bed.”

Natasha lifted the popcorn bowl from Steve’s head before it could fall. “Should we try and... before? Make sure we’re compatible?”

Steve swallowed thickly.

Sharon studied both of them and tried to look like she hadn’t been thinking such things since she’d woken up sandwiched between the two the first morning. She gave a careless shrug that Natasha responded to with a smirk and said, “I guess. You know. If you guys want to try it.”

* * *

The sex was just as awkward as they Sharon had feared, a jumble of fumbling hands and sweaty hands and shy glances between the three of them. Which was ridiculous, Sharon thought, because the only thing that was different was that- Well, okay. So this was different. She didn’t think Natasha had slept with either her or Steve, and the woman probably felt like an outsider to a large extent.

And then Natasha muttered, “Fuck it,” and her lips crashed into Sharon’s. She moved to pin Sharon’s body to the mattress and grabbed for Steve. After a moment, Sharon reached out and guided Natasha’s hand, and together they fondled him.

They didn’t feel so awkward after that.

* * *

They didn’t go public with their relationship, nor did they hide it. They just didn’t advertise it, and each of them were reserved about their private lives that they managed to keep it under wraps for a while.

Natasha was actually rather impressed by the timing of Sam and Bucky finding out. She had known for years that Steve was a horrible liar, but now she wondered if Steve had intentionally let the fact of his new relationship drop on purpose, and in time to enlist Sam and Bucky to help them move. She watched Steve closely on moving day as he and the other two carried boxes into the new townhouse, but other than the time he caught her looking and grinned smugly, he didn’t reveal anything.

“Better be pizza in this,” Sam said as he set a box of kitchenware on the counter. It was the last box, and it occurred to Natasha that they were going to have to go shopping. Sharon’s mismatched plates, bowls, and cups barely filled half the space.

“I already ordered some,” she told him, making a note to order some. She met Sharon’s eyes, and Sharon, apparently realizing that Natasha had lied, quickly started unboxing the glasses before she could spill the truth. How she had ended up here with two honest goody-two-shoes was beyond her.

Sam had hung out with Steve and Sharon long enough to know the signs, though, and he sighed dramatically. “Romanoff. You’ve got your hands full with these two.”

Natasha smiled. 

Sharon groaned. “Sam. Phrase it differently! She’ll have a field day with that.”

Sam eyed Natasha’s smile. “And you and Steve can thank me later.”

Natasha’s smile widened. “We can’t thank you until you finish bringing in the rest of the boxes,” she pointed out.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. You know, if I didn’t know better...” But before he could mull Steve’s potential manipulation out loud, he turned and left, leaving Natasha and Sharon alone.

Sharon handed Natasha the phone and then quickly turned back to the boxes before Natasha could get handsy. “Don’t try any funny business, either. You said so yourself. Not until we finish getting all the boxes in here.”

Natasha looked up neighborhood pizza places. “I’m a much better liar than both of you combined.” She pressed the phone to her ear and gave Sharon an appraising look. “And rules were meant to be broken.”

The box didn’t get unpacked until the next day.

* * *

They’d been living in their new place in Brooklyn, and listening to Steve talk about how the neighborhood had been years before, for eight weeks. Eight solid weeks of “There used to be a grocer on that corner where the Rite Aid is,” “That bank used to be a great nightclub,” and the new favorite, “That parking lot used to be a great movie theatre. I saw the Scarlet Pimpernel there for three cents.”

Sharon and Natasha would look at each other, and Natasha would roll her eyes and make jokes about old people. Could Steve show them how people had made love back in their day? Or had they called it sex, those crazy kids? Sharon would pat Steve’s hand and continue with the tour, and then when she would get tired of it, too - she and Natasha both could recount parts of the tour from memory - she would kiss his cheek and ask if he was going to stay out longer so they could get him his walker. He’d mutter about damn kids these days, having no respect for the elderly, and Natasha would look him in the eye and tell him if he wanted respect, he’d have to earn it. 

It was a good thing they’d found a very large and very sturdy bed. 

Almost miraculously, they avoided fighting with each other. And then, one day, it happened, as it had been bound to.

They returned from grocery shopping to find the door ajar.

Natasha, who avoided carrying bags whenever she could, had her gun out first. Steve and Sharon set their bags aside silently before Sharon drew her gun and Steve pulled out his shield from underneath his jacket. He eyed Natasha, then looked at Sharon as if in surprise. He looked doubtful, if only for a second, but Sharon saw and got angry that he seemed to think she couldn’t defend herself.

Natasha sighed as Sharon rushed past them both, barely stopping Steve from blocking her. She held Steve’s wrist and shook her head. They were going to have a talk later about not being overprotective dicks, she thought. And about how Sharon took the thought of being protected as a challenge to do something stupid and dangerous. And Steve was going to be doing the listening. 

“God damn it,” Sharon muttered.

She and Steve immediately sprang inside, gun and shield raised. They came up behind Sharon as she stared into the kitchen, her gun lowered.

Natasha and Steve looked at each other.

“Nick!” Steve snapped. “You can’t just come in here and eat our pie! I was saving that.”

Fury, older now, but unsoftened by age, took another nonchalant bite of the cherry pie. “Didn’t have your name on it. Rogers.”

Natasha frowned. That wasn’t Fury’s friendly tone. That was Fury’s trouble tone.

Steve seemed to know it, too. He stepped forward and stood at attention. “Nick.”

Fury pointed his fork at him. “Found out you were with Natasha and Sharon. So now I’ve got some questions. First off. What are your intentions?”

Sharon snorted. Fury glared at her, and she shrugged. “What? It’s like you’re our military dad. It’s kind of nice.”

“And embarrassing,” Natasha chimed in. “ _Dad._ ”

“Don’t make me ground you,” he said, unoffended. “Now you kids run along while I talk to your boyfriend here.”

“It’s sweet,” Sharon said. She smiled at Fury, then kissed Steve’s cheek. “We’ll see you later. If you survive.”

Natasha gave him a small wave. These days, she was more comfortable with touching them and them touching her, but she preferred to keep the people who saw their displays of affection to a minimum. “Come on, Shar. We’ll get some more pie. Good luck, Steve.”

He looked after them but didn’t dare follow. As they left, Natasha heard Fury say, “Have a seat, Steven. This could take a while.”

She gave a low whistle. “Full name treatment,” she muttered to Sharon. “Gonna be harsh.”

“We’ll buy him a card,” Sharon decided. “To go with the piece of pie. Maybe do something nice for him tonight.”

Natasha wrinkled her nose. “Let’s not go too far. Texting him a picture of the pie before we eat it should be enough.”

Sharon grinned and looked sideways at her.

“Don’t get mushy on me, Carter.”

Sharon rolled her eyes. “I’m going to, though. Because you make me happy, and you should know that. Steve, too. I should probably tell him so when he’s done with his Spanish Inquisition.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Natasha groused, trying not to seem as touched as she was. The truth was that they made her happy, too. The goody-two-shoed dorks who made terrible jokes and sucked at lying. “Let’s go get pie and never mention this again.”

At least not until they were all alone.


End file.
